


Honoured

by edka88



Category: Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-16
Updated: 2016-10-16
Packaged: 2018-08-22 17:48:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8294653
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/edka88/pseuds/edka88
Summary: A prestigious guest pays a visit to the Opera House.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hello dear readers! I'm really sorry about my long absence, hopefully you won't have to wait so long next time. Thank you for all those wonderful people who read, reviewed, or favourited my stories. You are the best.:)
> 
> And a very special thanks for my dear friend and editor, Masha, for her continued support and patience. Thank you, Masha! :)

The door of her dressing room shut behind them a little louder than it usually did, but by then Erik was already marching ahead of her in long strides.

"Who does he think he is?!" He cried, his voice surely carrying far beyond the closed door. A long shudder run down her spine and Christine took a deep breath – then let it out in a relieved sigh. There had been nobody outside on the corridor that lead up to her dressing room, she remembered.

"I could hardly argue customs," she told him, following him further into the room.

"He's not at all superior to you! To think that _you_ were expected to bow to him..." An angry noise left his lips while his fists clenched at his sides before they uncurled again and he whirled around. "You don't need to bow to anyone."

"There was no way I could have refused it," she replied, and immediately, he shook his head.

"It's not your fault," he told her dismissively, turning again and marching forward, stopping only when he reached the wall. "A nobody! A parasite!"

"I could hardly insult _His Majesty_ by diverging from protocol," she explained, walking up to him to the other end of the room. His chest was still heaving from the words uttered – and probably from those he did not. "Nothing happened, love," she told him, and air swept over her shoulder as he let out a deep sigh.

"A conceited idiot," he muttered, his hand twitching again at his side. "Bestowing his royal interest on mere mortals... _You_ are not to grovel before anyone," he insisted, his eyes lifting to slowly meet hers. The previous fury was still present in them, but it was tainted with something else, something more... tender, but something that was equally upsetting.

He turned from her and walked a few steps to the side, his movements slow and unsteady as if he was moving through the haze of roaming thoughts.

Her throat began to tighten.

"I have had to bow to a lot of people before," she told him gently. "With as many patrons as we have..."

"That's different – patrons respect you," he replied, lifiting his head but he didn't yet turn back to her. "They know that all the publicity they got for their investment is because of _you_. But this... he just wanted you to admire his mighty self."

"It is just meaningless formality," she told him.

"He seemed rather pleased with your undivided attention nonetheless," came his reply but he still did not turn to her, and his shoulders moved with his now even breathing.

"Well, he doesn't have a reputation of being fond of young women for nothing – I take it that my fame only made his interest grow in me."

Suddenly, he turned back to her. "He didn't offer anything..." He didn't finish but his expression left no doubt about what he had meant.

"No," she hurried to answer, and watched how his shoulders sank with the relieved sigh he let out. "And I knew that should he try anything untoward, I would only have to say one word and he'll be fighting for his next breath."

His throat moved with a swallow and his gaze dropped to the carpet. "You shouldn't have been subjected to such a burdensome procedure."

"It was not as grave as it might seem. Apart from playing the benevolent monarch, he didn't do anything offensive. He didn't even allude to anything indecent."

"You had to indulge his yearning for flattery. To say it was an honour to meet him; to have been blessed by his royal company."

"But this is nothing but ceremony! I don't see why you are so upset by a set of tradition."

"Because you were made to obey!" He snapped, but his gaze dropped to the floor while the last echoes of his words died in the room. "You deserve better than that," he added quietly.

Her stomach knotted immediately, well before the allusion hidden in his words could reach her understanding. Obedience clearly had a different meaning to him, and knowing what she did of his past, it was no wonder he never wanted to yield to it ever again – nor did he want her to be subjected to a similar treatment. To tell him that his interpretation of that particular notion was incorrect would be insulting, unfair even – especially that he was essentially correct in his assessment.

"You would have deserved better than that, too," she told him, reaching for his hand, and – although he was usually reluctant to accept her words of comfort, fearing he would appear weak or worse: pitiful – his fingers closed around hers with a soft twitch.

A long minute passed in deep silence while he rather let her to hold his hand than held hers in return, until at last he brushed his thumb across her fingers before letting go of her palm completely.

"I'm sorry. I'm unable to protect you from it without bringing a fate worse than a few minutes' of forced obedience upon you."

"You don't have to," she told him, watching how he took a step aside from her, walking to her vanity and then starting towards her again. "There is little chance that foreign royals would flock to the theatre."

He didn't answer her but continued on his way, turning away upon reaching her and ambling back towards the dressing-table.

"Although... they don't necessarily have to visit the theatre," he murmured half-aloud, almost talking to himself.

Her head snapped up at the suggestion, however unlikely it was that he would act upon it. "Don't even think it! There would be a gruesome scandal should anything to happen to a foreign royalty."

"They'll be fine," he said with an impatient sweep of his hand. "But some performances are hardly befit royalty," he said with an almost playful hint in his voice and a breathless chuckle left her lips before she could stop it.

"You think that the inappropriate plot of an opera could stop them from attending?"

"No. But the presence of certain opposing dignitaries can." His voice carried barely hidden triumph when he finished.

"You're incorrigible," she told him, but he appeared rather pleased than offended when she leaned up to kiss him.

"I would beg for your forgiveness but you don't seem particularly upset about the prospect," he told her after they broke apart, and although his voice was light, his eyes betrayed his carefully-hidden uncertainty.

"Because I'm not." Leaning up she kissed him again, and his chest sunk beneath her palms as he let out a relieved sigh.

"Thank you," he breathed against her lips, reaching up to cup her face in his palm and then brushing a short path on her skin with his thumb. "For putting up with my idiosyncrasies."

"It's not nearly as heavy a sacrifice as you may think," she told him, covering his hand on her face with hers.

Then responded to his kiss of gratitude with one of her own.

 


End file.
